


Offer Yourself to Me

by lukeskywalkersmistress



Category: Halloween - Fandom, Jack the Ripper - Fandom, Sookie Stackhouse - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:43:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5136854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukeskywalkersmistress/pseuds/lukeskywalkersmistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a short story about a girl who dresses as Sookie Stackhouse for Halloween and finds herself fantasizing about a guy dressed as Jack the Ripper. But soon, fantasy becomes reality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Offer Yourself to Me

It was Halloween.

You know a story is going to be great when it starts out like that, right? Well, you’re not wrong.

I guess I should start by saying that this is not a horror story. Hell, there’s not even blood.

Okay, there’s a _little bit_ of blood, but it’s the sexy kind! Don’t look at me like that. Allow me to explain.

 

I decided to go as Sookie Stackhouse. I figured, the show has been off the air long enough and the books are arbitrary enough that only a select few will get it and we’ll clink our drinks together and be the cool people in the room. Maybe I’d even get an, “Ohhh Sookeh” from someone impersonating Bill Compton. It was perfect. I had the side ponytail blonde wig and everything.

What I didn’t anticipate was just how much I would be imitating Sookie that night.

 

I didn’t really want to go to the party. I was losing my voice, my energy was shit, and the idea of curling up in bed while watching ‘Switched at Birth’ sounded like something I could get into, versus drinking extensively in a room full of people I didn’t know. Something in the back of my head kept telling me to go, though. Something told me it’d be worth it.

The party was in an old apartment in Minneapolis, right across from the Art Institute. It was an old brick apartment building, built before central air existed. It was completely covered in thick vines, and had a private courtyard that was only accessible once you were inside the building. I found it charming, but I couldn’t believe we were stuffing a bunch of people into a small apartment that would more than likely be too hot to function in. Weren’t we adults? Weren’t we past this? Can’t you tell I was in a great fucking mood? I digress.

Inside, it was dark, and I realized I’d have to get to know people the old fashioned way; I’d have to drink a lot of whiskey very quickly and then forget about my own personal bubble to be able to survive this night.

I should mention at this point that the hosts were two of the most beautiful people on the entire planet, and I can say that comfortably even though I haven’t met everyone on the entire planet. With that, all of their friends were breathtaking, as well. It was like being in a room full of supermodels and you’re still going through an awkward stage that involves frequent breakouts. I should also mention that I’m fat. I almost decided to label my costume as “Fat Sookie”, but people think “fat” is taboo, so I dropped it. I guess some people call me “curvy”, but come on. I’m fat. It’s okay. I have just as much fun as everyone else. Actually, I have more fun.

Anyway, there are the hosts. There they are, dressed as Jack the Ripper and a victim of Jack the Ripper. Full on fucking period appropriate clothes and blood and top hats and corsets, I mean, what the actual fuck. How is that even fair?

One of my best friends came as Maleficent. He sewed two wigs together and had horns that could pierce the damn sky. He was perfect. And there I was, in a cheap Hot Topic get up that I’d bought at the height of ‘True Blood’ and a cheap wig. I needed a drink.

 

I had brought jello shots, because I always have to contribute in some way, it’s literally how I’m remembered. I popped them in the freezer to set up a bit and then turned to the counter, where there was a blue solo cup with my name on it. Jack the Ripper came into the kitchen to greet me. We’d been friends for some years, never close, but better than acquaintances. He gave me a quick hug and peck on the cheek, as was his custom only with me. It always made me feel special. I assumed it was because we had had a very lovely drunken evening once, if you know what I mean. That peck on the cheek was like, “Hey, thanks for riding my dick like a pro all night, that was great, okay I’m going back to my supermodel girlfriend bye”.

Jack was a complete Charlie Hunnam look alike. He was tall, he was fit, and his blonde hair was always tousled like he didn’t give a shit. He had piercing eyes that only softened when he laughed, and his ass was just as glorious (maybe more so) than Charlie’s. Every time I saw him, that fateful night we hooked up came slamming into me like a ton of bricks. He had demanded I take off all of my clothes and get on the bed, then took a shower. When he came out, he was dripping wet and didn’t bother drying himself off thoroughly before he was in the bed with me, telling me to be a good girl and do his bidding. I shuddered from pleasure just thinking about it.

Jack brought me back to reality and asked what I was drinking. “It’s corn whiskey infused with orange peel. Do you want to try some?” I replied. He pulled out two dixie cups and I put a snit into each. We marveled at how good it was. We were both avid lovers of whiskey.

He excused himself as more people walked in the door, and I poured a good amount of alcohol into my solo cup. I mixed it with iced tea, which was the worst choice I’ve ever made when deciding on a mixer, but fuck it, I drank it down. Fast. I refilled and the second drink was better, either because I had balanced it better or because the alcohol was already eliminating my taste buds.

 

I attempted to mingle. By mingle, I mean I glommed onto Maleficent and held on for dear life. It isn’t that I’m not social, I’m just not very good with theatre people. They can smell when you don’t do theatre, and they’re repulsed by the stench. Eventually, I became more comfortable (thank you, whiskey!) and actually started talking to people. I’m one of those assholes who loves people and the human experience, so I can enjoy conversation about anything with just about anyone. Everyone’s costumes were marvelous; a few standouts were Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Mother Theresa, Christmas Vacation, and Bob and Louise from Bob’s Burgers.

Jack called me into the kitchen to ask if the shots were ready, and I said we could definitely do Shot O’Clock. I love Shot O’Clock, because it’s whenever you want it to be!

Yes, I’m aware that I sound like an alcoholic. Whatever, I made freaking fireball whiskey jello shots, you’re just jealous.

Jack gave a great speech, a wonderful Irish poem that everyone gave him shit for later (“just tell us to pound it down, man!”) and then it was bottoms up. It was a hit! I was very pleased with myself. I quickly started gathering up empty shot glasses and went to the garbage to drop them in.

That’s when I noticed a few people exiting a door that, I swear, just magically appeared in the kitchen. Jack came into the kitchen with a few empties. “Where does that door go?” I asked.

“Oh, that door? It leads to the roof,” he replied, nonchalantly, no big deal, just a roof.

I probably gave him a gleeful kid on Christmas look, because he smiled deviously and asked, “Do you want to go up there?” Of course I did. It was a damn roof!

I have a thing with roofs and heights and things to climb on. I love them. I love to be on the brink of danger, but still be responsible. I was a little wary, though, because I had just broken my ankle in May and I hadn’t exactly taken much time to sit on my ass and let it heal.

The roof was beautiful. There was a small veranda with a ledge and a view of the stars and Minneapolis that I’ll never forget. It jutted up behind us, all orange clay shingles and the possibility of slipping and falling to your doom. I loved it. There were a few people from the party up there already, enjoying a smoke or enjoying a conversation. Jack climbed up onto the shingles, boasting his fear of heights and yelling that he wasn’t afraid tonight, because he _was_ Jack the Ripper, damn it. He started singing and he was so beautiful in that moment that I found it difficult to breathe. _That could be trouble later,_ I thought, and decided another drink was in order.

 

The evening progressed typically for a Halloween party, voices getting louder, more shots being taken, some people leaving early. I went to the roof a few more times, feeling some kind of magic there, but not quite catching on to what it was, yet. Dracula was entranced with my voice, and I had to laugh because the “sultry” thing he was hearing was due to poor maintenance and working long hours at a busy security corporation where I was never off the phone. He didn’t believe me, and said that even if my voice wasn’t like that, I was. I was sultry. ME. SULTRY. AS IF.

I headed back inside and checked my makeup. Why was I checking my makeup? Something in the back of my head told me to. I adjusted my tits in my shirt and smoothed my apron down. When I came out of the bathroom, I realized how deserted the party really was. I also noticed that Maleficent was nowhere to be found. I quickly texted him, only to get a text back, “On the roof with Jack”.

My heart began pounding.

Without knowing why, I headed to the roof.

 

Maleficent and Jack were sitting on the slope of the roof, talking about things I didn’t hear. It had started to get cold.

“You found me!” Maleficent said, and I nodded, unable to speak. I looked directly at Jack, communicating something that I hadn’t even known I wanted. The nagging at the back of my head had been him the whole time. He stared back and I knew. I knew exactly what was going to happen.

Without breaking eye contact, I said, “I’m cold.”

“Yeah, it is cold out here,” Maleficent said. Jack and I kept staring at each other. He started coming down from the top of the roof, to the veranda, where I stood.

He reached me and wrapped his arms around me. He was warm from alcohol, and smelled like whiskey and fire and inappropriate thoughts.

“You are cold,” he murmured, rubbing my arms. The friction brought back the shuddering I’d experienced earlier. I was not feeling the cold anymore.

Maleficent announced that he was going inside.

I waited a beat before I looked up at Jack. He was staring at me with those agonizingly bewitching eyes. He could have swallowed me whole with that look.

Suddenly, his hands were on either side of my face, and he was kissing me so hard and so passionately that I thought I might disappear from the pleasure of it.

It had been a very long time since I’d kissed someone who knew how to kiss me properly. I was suddenly very thankful that Jack was in an open relationship.

His hands began exploring, and soon they’d found their way under my apron and into my pants. He immediately felt how wet I was and smiled. “That’s a good girl,” he whispered. His fingers were swift and educated, and soon I felt waves of an orgasm crashing over me. I started to spasm uncontrollably until he said, “No more moving, now, be still, that’s it, be still. Good.” I obeyed. He was my Master. He kissed me again, then told me I should go back inside and he’d come around from the courtyard.

 

I wasn’t done with him, yet, though, and followed him downstairs. I walked outside and as the door shut, I was swallowed by darkness.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” Jack said.

“I can’t go inside yet,” I told him, very aware that he was as turned on as I was.

He pushed me up against the wall, vines digging into my skin.

He kissed me again, teeth moving down to graze my throat.

Without hesitation, he turned me around and yanked my pants down. I bent to meet him and felt him let out a guttural moan.

“Yes, offer yourself to me. Oh my god, look at you,” he growled, and then he was inside me.  
I was surprised, because I didn’t remember him being that big, but the moment he started thrusting, I forgot about size and the vines digging into my skin and where we were and what was up or down. It was just him and me, his hands gripping my hips and pulling himself to me over and over again, quickly, like he couldn’t fuck me fast enough. I was overwhelmed with fiery gratification, my entire body getting hot, giving into him.

Jack pulled out quickly. I stood still, trying to regain my composure. Eventually, I turned around and pulled up my panties while he adjusted himself.

“Go upstairs, I’ll come up in a while,” he told me. I nodded and went inside.

 

At some point, my wig had come off, so I fixed my hair and went inside the apartment.

Nobody had any idea what I had just been doing with the host.

I sat down on the couch to talk to everyone, and eventually Jack came inside.

He asked if everyone wanted one last shot before he turned in for the night. We all agreed that we did.

I went to the kitchen to help him, and as soon as everyone had taken their swig of warm liquor, we were once again alone in the kitchen.

The tension was palpable.

Jack took a step toward me, tentative, like he was asking permission. I nodded.

He was on me, then, his tongue seeking mine feverishly, kissing me with so much fervor that I thought I’d go mad.

Without warning, it was over. He turned and retreated to his room.

I leaned against the counter, touching my very tender lips. Maleficent announced that he was getting an Uber and was ready to go home. I took a deep breath and went to the living room, agreeing  as I started to gather my things.

 

Dracula said goodnight to me, and on impulse, I kissed him full on the mouth.

 

I left with a smile on my face. Overall, not a bad party.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after attending a party and literally fantasizing about a guy dressed as Jack the Ripper there. None of this happened. I sat on the couch most of the night and drank too much whiskey. I did really kiss Dracula, though. I feel like people will relate to it, because we've all been there. We've all been the fat girl on the couch who wonders what it'd be like if someone really wanted to yank her pants down and fuck her silly against a wall in a courtyard. Right?


End file.
